Tea, Chess, and Beating Up Mobsters
by dance4thedead
Summary: A collection of 100-word slice of life drabbles. Symbolism, word play, and tomfoolery abound. Various characters, various genres. *FF word count differs from more accurate programs (they ARE exactly 100 words long)*
1. His Master, a Criminal?

Ciel stared at the Queen's butlers, shocked. Tax evasion? That was far beneath him, and the members of his staff were well paid. Ciel groaned when he realized the discrepancy's cause.

"Fine. Sebastian, prepare two cheques. Make one out to Her Majesty for the outstanding balance, and the other," he sighed. "The other is to be made out to yourself at the sum of a hundred pounds for your work this year."

"Retroactively," his butler muttered under the guise of a cough.

 **"** **Three hundred pounds, Sebastian**. Not a pence more."

"Yes, my lord," the demon smirked, rather pleased with himself.


	2. Knife Skills

Prep work. Always prep work. Whenever his memories caught up to him, he'd take to the kitchen and dice a whole bushel of onions for no good reason.

"Baldroy?" came a timid voice behind him. "You okay? I thought I heard you—"

"I'm good and fine, Mey-Rin. It's the juices gettin' to me."

A hand touched his shoulder, gently. "I clean the china on the top shelf on my own sometimes … and it makes dust fall into my eyes—yes it does."

The knife continued to slice through the bulb. Even when he felt her leave, it never broke cadence.


	3. Reunion

Four were gathered around the bed of an old man when the redhead came to claim his soul.

"You're the Phantomhive servants, aren't you?" she asked, chainsaw lowering to the floor.

"Were," said the one with an unlit cigarette in his mouth. In sixteen years, it was darkly comical how little—and how much—had changed about them.

"Grell, leave. The rest of you as well," ordered a cool, once familiar voice from the doorway.

A collective gasp.

"Mister … Sebastian?" They all thought it, but it was Mey-Rin who spoke the name aloud.

"My master wishes to say his goodbyes."


	4. Proposal

"There's no need to fuss over any of this right now!" Ciel shouted suddenly over the pleasant dinner conversation the Midfords were having with Lau and Prince Soma.

"It's not like Lizzy and I are going to be married tomorrow! We haven't even got a ceremony planned!"

"Young master, should the need arise, I would be honored to marry you," Sebastian offered.

All discussion came to a halt. Elizabeth's fork fell, clattering against the inside of her plate. Francis cleared her throat, irritated.

"After all, I am ordained," Sebastian explained, relishing the death glare he received.

"Damn demon," Ciel muttered.


	5. Imperfect Objects

The tea cup was irreparably shattered. It didn't matter how much care or time he spent fixing it. If it was filled, liquid would run through the cracks in the clear epoxy Eric was using to crudely rejoin the shards.

"Just throw it out, Eric. It's not worth saving," Alan said plainly, standing at the kitchen table next to him.

"You've got no faith in me," Eric huffed as he nudged a dollop of glue into another hairline fracture.

"Eric … it's broken. There's no use in keeping broken things."

Alan scooped the pieces into a dustpan. Eric sighed, admitting defeat.


	6. Fine Dining

"Suit!" Joker called from where the troupe ate. "Join us! Black cooked a good an' proper feast!"

William's scythe ground into gravel. "Honestly, the only thing I'd imagine to be worse than that demon's presence in the relative vicinity of me is having something of his inside my body."

"My apologies, Mr. Suit, for your lack of imagination in spite of your exceptional word choice," Sebastian replied, passing him a plate.

"No."

"Aww come on! Take y' one bite!"

William reluctantly consumed it, maintaining his cover. "I don't wish to know what manner of beast that was."

Sebastian smirked. "Squab."


	7. Commoner's Tea

Bit o' crack. Comment if you get the ref ;)

* * *

"Sebastian," Ciel indicates the trolly, the tea set suspiciously absent, "Forgetting something?"

A hand touches to a lapel. "My apologies, young master. A certain servant managed to destroy every suitable drinking vessel in the manor in the span of two minutes."

"You're a butler, aren't you?" His eyes narrow. "Come up with a viable solution. The faults of others do not excuse you of your duties."

"What if I let you drink it … from my mouth?"

"How dare you suggest such a thing?! That's disgusting, not to mention unsanitary!" the earl exclaims.

"How true, my lord. How very true indeed."


	8. 9 to 5

My heartbeat slows. My breathing shallows. I adjust for the slight breeze, the way I've done a dozen times.

I can't make myself take the shot.

Father yanks the rifle from my hands, clipping on a scope.

He pulls the trigger and the target falls over, dead. I choke back a sob.

The knuckles of his open hand strike my cheekbone.

"I raised you better," he says, disappointment thick in his voice.

"She was pregnant!" I protest.

"Why does that make a difference? No kill, no payment."

And no payment means no food.

My stomach growls.

"I won't fail again."


End file.
